Craig Russell - The Valkyrie Song

‘Frau Schilmann told me that an ex-Stasi officer lived here,’ Lorenz piped up in German.

‘That’s right,’ said Fabel. ‘A major in the HVA.’

‘HVA?’ Lorenz rubbed his heavy chin with forefinger and thumb. ‘Those boys knew what they were doing when it came to hiding stuff. You’re sure he has something here? I think it’s more likely that he would keep anything sensitive in a different location.’

‘Could be,’ said Fabel. ‘But my money’s on him operating from here.’

‘He would feel reasonably safe here, I suppose,’ said Lorenz. ‘I mean, it’s not like in the GDR. He probably thought this flat would never be searched.’ He cast his eye across the books on shelves. ‘It makes things quicker if I don’t tidy up behind me. Is that a problem?’

‘Do what you have to do,’ said Fabel.

It took Lorenz less than half an hour.

‘Like I thought,’ he said in his Saxon baritone when he came back through to the living room. ‘He felt secure here. You were right about him using this as an operational base, so I reckoned there was no point in shifting heavy furniture, bookcases, et cetera. He would want to conceal his stuff but have reasonably easy access to it.’

‘You learned that from the Stasi?’ asked Martina.

‘Journalists and writers — we were taught that they had to keep manuscripts, typewriters, that kind of thing handy. Serious dissidents and foreign agents — they were a different kettle of fish. That’s why I thought this guy might be difficult. If he was HVA. But this couldn’t have been more straightforward.’

Lorenz led them through to the study. He lifted up the deco-style bronze bird and gave the wooden base a twist. A compartment was exposed in which sat a small steel tool, almost like a nail twisted into a flattened hook. Lorenz took the hook and leant down beneath the desk. What looked to Fabel like a small chip in a floorboard was actually a perfect fit for the hook. Lorenz inserted the hook, gave it a half-twist and lifted a square of floorboard. The whole operation took less than fifteen seconds.

‘It’s nothing more than having a secret drawer,’ said Lorenz. ‘It was secure enough but easy and quick to get to. I haven’t touched anything in there.’

Fabel snapped on a pair of latex gloves and knelt down to examine the contents.

‘There’s a black laptop computer in here, along with its power supply. Also a bunch of data sticks. Nothing else — no notebooks or files. Just this…’ He eased out a copy of a magazine that had been folded lengthwise.

‘Don’t tell me he hid porn in there,’ snorted Werner.

‘Werner, go down to the flat below and ask Holger Brauner or Astrid Bremer to come up with a few large evidence bags.’ Fabel unfolded the magazine. He showed Vestergaard and Martina Schilmann the title. ‘Now I could be wrong,’ he said, ‘but I don’t really see Drescher as your typical feminist.’

‘ Muliebritas,’ Vestergaard said aloud.

‘It’s a feminist title,’ explained Fabel. ‘The title is Latin. It’s where the English word “muliebrity” comes from. The female equivalent of virility. There’s a subtle difference from femininity. We would translate it as Fraulichkeit in German. I suppose you have a Danish word for it.

‘ Kvindelighed,’ said Vestergaard.

Fabel stared at the magazine. ‘I tell you what else this is: a prime example of synchronicity. The night Jake Westland was murdered, there was a massive feminist protest in Herbertstrasse that contributed to the confusion. And it was organised by Muliebritas.’

Werner reappeared with some evidence bags. Fabel slipped the magazine into one and handed it to Vestergaard. Easing the computer and its power connector out of the recess in the floor, he placed them in a tagged evidence bag, putting the data sticks in a separate one.

He turned to Vestergaard and Martina. ‘We’ll get this stuff down to Tech Division and see if they can get into the computer. I’m guessing it’s encrypted, but the tech guys will be able to get through it. God knows how many paedophiles we’ve nicked because they thought they’d locked up their porn safe and sound.’

‘A paedophile is one thing,’ said Astrid Bremer, who had appeared behind them. ‘A professional spy is another. That is what we’ve got here, isn’t it?’

‘I think so, Astrid,’ said Fabel. ‘But from a pre-digital age. This was maybe one area he wasn’t too hot on. How are you getting on downstairs?’

‘It’ll take a while. Days, maybe. But Holger said he could spare me if you need something special up here.’

‘Anything,’ said Fabel. ‘We’ve got one killer in custody but there’s another one, maybe even two, on the loose. And she’s connected to the victim, Drescher. I need anything that can point us in the right direction.’

‘Do you think she’s been in this apartment?’

‘No. Probably not. But if there’s a trace of anybody other than the vic having been in here I want to know about it. Also, if you come across anything unusual let me know. But can you start with this.’ Fabel handed Astrid the copy of Muliebritas. ‘This doesn’t belong here. It could have been handled by the person we’re looking for. Either that or it’s the mechanism he used to contact her. I need it checked before we start going through it with a cryptologist.’

‘I’ll get right onto it,’ said Astrid, and she smiled broadly at Fabel.

The first thing Fabel did when he got back to the Presidium was to phone Criminal Director van Heiden to approve the overtime for his team and the extra officers he would need to draft in. Van Heiden gave him the authority immediately and without question, which surprised Fabel a little: he had become used to his superior being grudging about any extra expenses on an investigation, as if he personally had to finance them. But, there again, this case had started off as three: Jespersen’s death, the Angel killings in St Pauli and Drescher’s torture and murder. It was all getting too messy, too political and the media were focusing on it. Complication was something van Heiden had difficulty dealing with. Fabel guessed that his superior was under pressure to clear it all up as quickly as possible.

‘Are you convinced all of these crimes are connected?’ asked van Heiden.

‘Pretty convinced,’ said Fabel. He gestured to Karin Vestergaard, who had just come into his office, to sit down. ‘It’s safe to assume that this GDR hit squad called the Valkyries has been operating for profit from here in Hamburg. Drescher ran it and he’s been killed by one of his former trainees.’

‘He didn’t recognise her?’ asked van Heiden.

‘I get the impression she was a reject, probably because of her mental-health problems. And it was a long time ago. She probably just dropped off his radar and out of his memory.’

‘Okay,’ said van Heiden. ‘Keep me informed. So I can keep others informed.’

‘Of course.’ Fabel hung up and turned his attention to Vestergaard. Again he noticed that she had done something with her make-up that had subtly changed her look and once more Fabel was struck by how attractive her face was, yet how forgettable. Maybe it was something that Margarethe Paulus shared with her. Maybe the appearance of the Valkyries had been a criterion: attractive but forgettable. Maybe that was why Drescher had not recognised his killer.

‘You said you’ve been given new information from the Norwegian investigators of Halvorsen’s murder?’ Fabel asked her.

‘The Norwegian National Police have been in touch with me through my office.’ Vestergaard leaned forward and placed a note on Fabel’s desk. ‘This man — Ralf Sparwald — is someone Jorgen Halvorsen seems to have had contact with. It’s believed that Halvorsen visited Hamburg to talk to him.’